Operation Detroit
by Punisher Ops
Summary: Punisher brings his vigilante war to the rotting, bankrupt Motor City to purge its worst criminal elements.


Operation Detroit

Punisher

1

Near north side; City of Detroit

Outside the gang hideout perimeter where an undercover cop was being held hostage, Frank advanced low through the urban darkness with only a suppressed sidearm, combat knife, tomahawk, katana, and collapsible tactical baton for current armaments.

Approaching the first sentry from his rear, Frank silently brought him down and snapped his neck in one smooth action. He continued onward.

The deserted black ops marine, former Catholic seminarian and Medal of Honor recipient did similar lethal takedowns on two more thug sentries before arriving at the hideout's rear door. Picking the lock with a reliable multitool brand he'd used for years as both a soldier and vigilante, Frank soon had entry into the hideout's interior.

Not far beyond breaching the interior, he heard a man's screams, as he was being tortured at present.

It was Detroit PD Officer Robert Wilkins. Wilkins, one of the few honest cops on the force, had volunteered to go into gang-infested territory to try to help his community – what was left of it anyway, anymore. With the near biblical exodus of citizens that had left the municipality in recent years, Wilkins' determination could have seemed like a lost cause from the get-go. Yet, despite that hopeless truth of daily Detroit life, citizens like Wilkins wouldn't stand idly by and do nothing. And despite having a wife and three children, he'd sacrificed much to go in anyway.

Crouching in cover to doorway not far from where the captive officer continued to suffer at his sadistic captors' hands, Frank unsheathed his self-made katana and advanced on the back-facing thugs.

Moving low and silent like a ninja as cross-trained to do, Frank was at the back of one thug in no time. He came up smoothly and spun around, also silently, and used the finest close quarter combat weapon ever made by human hands to decapitate the first thug.

In fact, it was so brief and silent in duration that the targeted thug, already dead, was still standing, head still atop his neck. Frank had already retracted his beyond razor sharp blade to a ready position and was crouched low again for continuing combat. It was only after a moment of this that the first of the blood flow from the inflicted lethal trauma started to drain out – at first, only a little, but then increasingly like a red waterfall. Then, the thug's severed head fell to his left and his body to his right.

The other thugs only saw this in their periphery as the dead thug's body went different ways. When they did, they panicked.

Already at his next target, Frank cut him down with a diagonal torso slash before he could raise his rifle.

Two other thugs charged at him while Wilkins' restrained, disoriented, and bloodied form tried to make sense of the melee commotion unfolding around him.

Both thugs, armed with knives, tried to stab and cut down Frank. Thinking that if they were close to him they could do so with ease being that the sword still needed some distance to be effective, they didn't know the historical effectiveness of Japan's greatest martial device. And in a trained wielder's hands, was virtually unstoppable.

Dodging one stab, Frank spun around and slashed from high to sever the thug's knife arm at the shoulder. While the same "disarmed" thug stood there in sustained agony, the next repositioned and lunged at Frank from behind.

Frank rolled to the side; the thug missed him. The roll, though evasive in nature, was also a feint and a tactical reposition all in one.

Exiting the roll, Frank slashed across from low. His two-handed strike cut through the next thug's legs directly above the knees. The thug cried out as he fell atop his severed legs, but was swiftly silenced by Frank stabbing downward through the thug's forehead.

A quick lunging stab to the heart finished off the still standing armless thug.

Facing Wilkins, Frank saw the last thug positioned behind the captive officer – and holding a gun against Wilkins' head.

"There's only one bastard crazy enough to come charging into a 'hood and hideout like this – with shit like that – all to rescue one little piggy – the Punisher," said the thug.

Straightening, Frank said, "That's my nom de guerre; don't wear it out."

"Your what?"

"You figure it out, genius, since you seem to know everything."

The thug gave an annoyed laugh. "What's that supposed to be? Some sort of psychological warfare or something?"

"You tell me."

The thug growled and pushed the muzzle harder against the cop's head. "I'm not kidding with you, asshole. I'll do it; I'll blow this pig away as fast as blinking."

Frank held up the sword and scoffed. "How can I stop you with a sword from this distance?"

"Good point. Drop all that shit anyway."

"All right."

He did so – saving the tomahawk for last.

When he dropped his combat knife, next to last, the thug laughed.

"What's so funny?" said Frank.

"I heard your good with knives – throwing them included. That just leaves that little ax thing on you, doesn't it?"

Frank withdrew it, looked at it, and nodded. "Yep. It does."

"And without your gun and your knife, and with the distance still between us, you're totally screwed, aren't you?"

As the thug's overconfidence soared, Frank nodded. "Quite right, son – quite right."

The thug laughed. "I beat the Punisher. Me – of all people – beat the supposed badass of New York..." He closed his eyes and laughed harder, keeping the gun against the cop's head.

As the thug did this, Frank and Wilkins exchanged a look of understanding.

Frank readied the tomahawk for throwing...

"Hey, genius..."

The thug stopped laughing and looked at Frank.

"You've never watched any cheesy action movies before, have you?"

The thug kept his dumbfounded look as Frank let the war hatchet fly. It precisely struck the thug right between the eyes, knocking him clear of Wilkins, and killing him instantly.

"But apparently you have," said Wilkins.

"Back in the day," said Frank, recovering his gear. He then moved to free Wilkins.

"Thanks."

"Sure."

Frank handed the cop one of the thug's guns.

"What the hell are you of all people doing in Detroit?"

Frank eyed Wilkins on the level. "I'm here to help you clean this town up – from the top down."

Wilkins scoffed, wiping some of the blood off his face. "I don't think even the world's greatest vigilante can help us with that one."

"That's what the scumbags want you to think. Fear is how they do things. Take that same fear and turn it on them instead, and you get results."

"I wish it were that simple..."

"It's not, but it's a start."

Wilkins still had doubts.

"Do you want your kids to have better than this when they grow up?"

"What do you think?"

Frank nodded. "Then here is where we wage war." He extended his hand. "Frank Castle."

Wilkins scoffed. "We all know who you are, man."

"I don't care about the world – only about the here and now."

Sighing, Wilkins shook Frank's hand. "Robert Wilkins, 19th precinct."

"Is it true about police chief Martinkowsky?"

Wilkins frowned. "Come again?"

"Is it true he's also one of the city's biggest crime lords?"

Wilkins was silent.

Frank nodded. "That's what I thought."

"If you knew then why did you ask?"

"I didn't know; I suspected. But you just confirmed it for me."

"I don't know anything for sure either, man..."

"Maybe not – but what do you suspect – deep down?"

Wilkins bowed his head and sighed. "He's dirty – maybe the dirtiest of us all..."

"Then it's time to do our thing..."

"What thing?"

"Like all good sanitation engineers do – take out the trash."

"Whoa, wait a minute. I'm not an assassin, or a vigilante. I work within the law..."

"What law, officer? What law do you see here in this city?"

Wilkins was silent.

"I'm sure you know the stats well enough. This city is dying. It's being ravaged by a malignant force, and it needs a radical dose of chemo to make it right again."

"Yeah, but chemo can also cause secondary cancers as well. I saw that with my dad..."

"There's no pretty way to paint this picture, Wilkins. It is what it is. And those are the facts on the ground. Now, help me or not, but I'm going to liberate this city – one way or another."

"Liberate? You make it sound like crime is some kind of oppressor or something."

"That's because it is. When one has to live in fear of getting shot or mugged every day because their neighborhood has degenerated into a shithole and citizens are too afraid or lazy to act, then that too becomes another form of oppression. And in what's supposed to be the land of the free stands as a vicious contradiction to that core value – don't you think?"

"Living in fear isn't living free at all."

"Precisely. Fear and freedom are mortal enemies – always will be."

"Can you do this – really?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't think we could do some good."

"We? Aren't you a loner and all that because of what happened?"

"Typically, but occasional allies are important as well for greater mission success."

"Then I'll help."

"Good. We should get out of here."

"Yeah. The precinct...?"

"Stay dark for now, given the chief's corruption."

"Right. My family?"

"We'll handle that too."

"All right."

Securing what they could, they then moved out for sanctuary – and war.


End file.
